Monday, May 19, 2008

just until he gets home

The ceiling fan blows overhead. It's been a long hot day. The baskets of laundry in front of me to fold are like mountains I still must scale. I walk into the kitchen to get a glass of ice water, but the dirty dishes beside the sink only make me turn and go back out the door.

I wander down the hall to the bedroom. It's the darkest coolest room in the house. As I walk through the door, I'm thankful for the darkness; makes it harder to see the clutter in the corner. The hunting bow. The unpacked luggage. The empty DVD box. The winter jackets. I think for a moment that I'll put it all away and then realize I have no idea where I'd put it.

I surrender to the bed. The cool sheets feel good against my bare legs. My mind drifts to summer days when I was a kid, stretched out on the cool grass under a shade tree. I smile a little and fall asleep.